


Sometimes I lie

by elareine



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Ambiguous/Open Ending, But all OCs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Organized Crime, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 12:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14977649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: Geno was an FBI agent working to bring down a Pittsburgh cartel. When he was told to turn small-time criminal and bartender Sidney Crosby into an informant, things became a little too real too fast...





	Sometimes I lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secretsidgenowriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsidgenowriter/gifts).



> Dear secretsidgenowriter, I hope this is the kind of FBI agent/informant AU you were looking for! It was a lot of fun to write even as a pinch-hit. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> 1000 thanks to prettylittlepliers, who got absolutely no notice on this and beta-ed this within a day. You're the best.
> 
> Non-spoilery warnings: Mentions of violence, one non-graphic instance of violence happening on screen resulting in injury, discussion of murder, mentions of guns, talk of organised crime, mention of drug distribution (not use), swearing
> 
> There are detailed warnings in the end notes.

_“This is Special Agent Evgeni Malkin interviewing Mr. Sidney Crosby at the Pittsburgh Central Police Station on June 14 2018. It’s 2:34 am. Mr. Crosby, are you consenting for this interview to be recorded on tape?”_

_“I am.”_

_“You are not a suspect at this point, but you still have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney. With these rights in mind, are you still willing to talk with me?”_

_“I am.”_

 

February 9, 2018 - 1:15 pm 

“Why is the FBI interested in a simple car theft?”

“And how,” Geno asked, “did you know that I was FBI?”

Crosby sighed wearily, as if Geno was an unruly child out to make his mother’s day difficult. “Your suit. Way too expensive for a plain-clothed beat cop.”

“I could have rich parents.”

“Sure. But you are FBI, aren’t you?”

Geno just smiled and turned the page on the notebook in front of him. “Let’s go over your movements yesterday again.”

He could see Crosby barely resisting an eye-roll. It was pretty funny. “I already told you. I was at my mother’s place from ten to half past one.”

Why did these small-time criminals always have mothers having them over for lunch? Or at least willing to testify to having them over for lunch. In Geno’s world, there was a difference there.

“Good food?”

“The best,” Crosby replied stiffly.

“Whoa, not insulting your mother’s cooking, here, just asking for details,” Geno laughed.

“Ribs, potatoes and salad, if you must now. And we drank tea.”

Geno nodded and pretended to scribble something down. “And afterwards?”

“I had an afternoon shift at Loyd’s - setting up for the evening. I was at the club until 3 am.”

“That’s a long shift.”

“Phil Kessel, the other bartender, was sick.”

The whole time, Crosby hadn’t moved. He just sat there with his hands in his lap, shoulders back, looking Geno straight in the face. Geno had gotten used to North American’s lack of expressive gestures by now, but this was going too far.

“How did you get home?”

“I walked.”

“Wasn’t it a bit too cold for that?”

“I’m Canadian.”

“What’s your route?”

“I usually go down Roberts St. and Centre Avenue to the bus terminal.”

Geno looked through his folder. Finally finding a map, he pushed it towards Crosby on the table, together with a pen. “Mind drawing it in for me? I’ve always had such problems visualising things.”

The look Crosby gave him was disbelieving, but it did get him out of his precious resting posture, which had been Geno’s goal in the first place. Guy needed to be thrown off his balance a bit.

Still, he pretended to look carefully at the result. “Hmm. I see you walked past the park at Freedom Corner. See anything there?”

Crosby was back to his old pose, dammit. “Not a thing.”

“Not saying hi to your old friend Mark?”

“I didn’t see Mark all evening.”

“That’s weird. He told us he was at Loyd’s.”

Crosby shrugged. “Must have gotten someone else to buy his drinks, then.”

“Any guesses as to who?”

But Crosby was clearly done. “Are you detaining me?”

Geno lifted an eyebrow. “Should I?”

“If you’re not detaining me, I can leave,” was all Crosby answered, his placid tone suggesting he knew just as well as Geno that there wouldn’t be any point in that. There would be no arrest in this case.

Geno narrowed his eyes. If this was a minion, an underling as unimportant as he made himself seem, Geno’d eat his hat.

Still. There wasn’t anything he could do to hold him any longer. “Sure. Make sure to come back tomorrow to sign your statement.”

 

_“Please describe why you were at Loyd’s today.”_

_“I work there as a bartender. It was my regular shift, starting at nine in the evening.”_

_“What time exactly did you arrive?”_

_“Probably a quarter of an hour before that. I have to put my stuff in the locker and change into my work clothes.”_

_“Thank you. Can you describe in your own words what happened?”_

_“For a while, nothing special. It was busy, but it wasn’t too crowded.”_

_“How many barkeepers were there tonight?”_

_“Two. Phil and me.”_

_“Continue.”_

 

February 9, 2018 - 4 pm

Mike Sullivan looked up when Geno entered his office. “Ah, Malkin. Any progress?”

“Sort of, sir.”

Sullivan gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down. Sort of?”

Geno settled down, sighing with relief at finally being able to relax his posture. “We’ve identified the car as being Gregory V. Chase’s Holden Apollo. It was stolen at 2:24 pm yesterday afternoon.”

“Any chance Chase could have faked the theft?”

Geno shook his head. “Afraid not. The theft was witnessed by two pedestrians while he was inside the restaurant boozing up his mistress. Besides, his alibi for the shooting is rock solid.”

“Oh?”

“He was at the police station,” Geno grinned, “locked up for drunk driving when he took his friend’s car to report the theft.”

Sullivan laughed. “That _does_ clear him, I agree. Any suspects?”

“That’s where the ‘sort of’ part of progress comes in,” Geno grimaced. “We know the vic, Wilbert A. Bryant, was involved with Krylov’s cartel, no doubt about that. I heard some talk that he was ready to turn informant. Just had a baby daughter. You know how it is, sir.”

Sullivan nodded. “But if you heard that, so did Krylov.”

“Exactly. And two of his… how shall we call them? Associates? Just happened to be near the area of the shooting about the right time. Jack Little and Sidney Crosby.” He finally handed over the two folders in his hand.

Sullivan took them, reading in silence for a few minutes. “Who’s your money on?”

“Jack Little,” Geno said immediately, “he needs the money and he’s a mean little shit. Also, he was the one who said he was in a car.”

“Yes,” Sullivan agreed slowly, “If you’re admitting you were in the area, you’re thinking there might be a witness. And if so, your story needs to at least roughly fit what they’ve seen. No point in saying you’re a pedestrian if someone might’ve seen you in a car.”

“But -” Geno held spread his fingers, “I have nothing on him.”

“Gun?”

“9mm semiautomatic. Nothing unusual, though handguns require some accuracy when used in a drive-by. Not used in a hit before.”

Sullivan sighed. “Any point in keeping you on the case?”

Geno shrugged. “Might look weird if we withdraw entirely. But the locals can shoulder most of the leg work, I guess.”

“It’s back to the beginning for us, then. Bryant won’t turn informant now.”

Geno just barely managed to keep from making a zombie joke. Bryant had been hit by more than eight bullets - he sure as hell wouldn’t talk to anyone anymore. Geno probably would be feeling worse about that if the guy hadn’t been a scumbag, too. “That’s right, sir.”

Sullivan was looking through the folders in front of him again. “What about Crosby?”

“Crosby, sir?”

Sullivan pointed at the map Crosby had drawn on. “If you’re right about this… he might be the witness Little was afraid had seen him. Whether he actually did or not.”

“So he might be in danger,” Geno followed the thought to its conclusion. But then he shook his head. “But he didn’t talk.”

“They don’t know that,” Sullivan said. “More importantly, Crosby must be feeling a bit threatened right now, mustn’t he? All he has on in his record are some thefts, maybe some dealing. We can overlook that. Cultivate him as a source. Try to be his buddy, you’re good at that. Get him to trust you. Maybe next time Krylov decides to take someone out, you’ll have an in.”

Geno thought about it. “Crosby didn’t seem the type to get frightened easily, but sure. I’ll be his buddy.”

 

_“At some point, we ran low on vodka. I went to our backroom in order to get more.”_

_“Where exactly is that room located?”_

_“There’s a door next to the bar itself, right next to the entrance to the toilets.”_

_“Is it usually locked?”_

_“No, but it has a sign saying ‘Employees Only’ on it.”_

_“So it wasn’t locked today?”_

_“I don’t think so. The last time I went was when I got changed - our lockers are in that room, too - and I didn’t lock it then.”_

_“Alright. So what happened when you entered the room?”_

_“I found Jack Little lying dead on the floor.”_

 

April 10, 2018 - 5:05 am

Surprisingly, Sullivan was right. Crosby was by no means an easy informant to cultivate - Geno still knew next to nothing about his personal life, and he had never even admitted that he belonged to the cartel.

Still, they’d hung out. Not at Loyd’s - Geno was pretty sure no cop would survive a nice evening out - but at the Billy’s Diner, grabbing some breakfast early in the morning when their shifts ended.

Crosby took his eggs over-easy and with ketchup. Geno shuddered every time he looked at them.

Today, though, Crosby was late. That was unusual - Geno had pegged him for the type to be five minutes early to everything, and he’d been right. Still, it wasn’t like he’d text Geno if something came up. Geno _had_ given him his number, yes, but they both knew Crosby would likely never use it. That wasn’t how this game worked.

Geno was just considering going ahead and ordering his own breakfast, anyway, when the door to the diner opened and Crosby stepped in, looking mildly out of breath and apologizing as soon as he reached their table: “I’m sorry, I was held up. Some traffic stop on Centre Avenue. The bus couldn’t get through.”

He was wearing a suit.

For a moment, Geno’s mouth went dry. He’d only ever seen Crosby in casual clothing (usually bland and vaguely golfer-like, the poor, misguided lamb), but damn, those suit pants suited him well. For a very entertaining minute, Geno contemplated opening that top button on his dress shirt and getting at that throat.

_Stop that,_ he told himself very firmly. “You’re looking fancy.”

Crosby just grimaced, taking off his suit jacket and carefully placing it on the back of the chair before sitting down. “We had some important guests tonight, so we had to dress up.”

“And here you lectured me about my expensive suits, eh?” Geno laughed.

“It’s not the price that I object to.”

Geno winked. “I just look too good in them, is that it?”

That actually made Crosby snort. “They’re very… loud.”

It was probably a good thing their waitress chose that moment to greet them. “Hi guys! How are you today?”

“Good, how are you, Mary?”

“I’m great. The usual?”

“Sure. Lot’s of sugar in my coffee, please,” Geno told her, just to make Crosby wince.

“Of course, honey.”

Once they were left with the appropriate dosage of caffeine and sugar in front of them, Geno was ready to return to the topic of his fashion sense, but Crosby abruptly told him: “Someone will be dealing at the corner of Ridge Avenue and Commons West today.”

Geno leaned back, cup of coffee in his hand, and took a long sip to buy some time. Well, that was certainly one way to give information to a cop. Clearly, Crosby didn’t bother with the usual routine of ‘So I heard…’.

“And you know this, how?”

“What’s that phrase you always use? ‘Information received’.”

_Don’t push it_ , Geno told himself, _or you’ll lose him_. This was great. The target was likely only a small fish, but hey, one seller less on the streets for a while. Still: “And you’re passing it on, because…?”

For the first time, Crosby looked away. Geno thought that might mean he was telling the truth. “That’s right across from a middle school.”

“Got any relatives going there?”

Crosby didn’t answer.

Their food came.

Crosby sighed when he saw the stack of food in front of Geno. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

It was an obvious change of topic, and Geno let him have it. He’d have plenty of time to get to the corner of Ridge Avenue and Commons West before school started.

 

_“Describe the scene for me.”_

_“He was lying face-down, bleeding. I felt his pulse, but… it was fairly obvious that he couldn’t have survived that.”_

_“How did you recognise him?”_

_“Who else could it be with that hair?”_

_“Fair. Did you see him at any point before that?”_

_“I think he bought two beers from me early on in my shift.”_

_“Can you narrow down the time more?”_

_“Sorry, no. Maybe Phil remembers more.”_

_“We’ll ask him. Did you see Little after that?”_

_“No.”_

_“Did you see who he bought the second beer for? Please answer verbally, shaking your head won’t register on the tape.”_

_“No, I didn’t see him with anyone.”_

_“Anything else that struck you as unusual this evening?”_

_“Apart from the dead body in our storeroom? Not really.”_

 

May 12, 2018 - 11:20 pm

It was supposed to be just a regular raid. The guys over at narcotics were running it - the warrant had been granted on the grounds of suspected drug trade - and Geno was just here as a backup. The place hadn’t been connected to Krylov’s cartel so far, but he’d made enough friends in the department that they took him along just in case.

So of course everything went to hell right away. Turned out there was an armed gang that just _happened_ to hang out at the club that very evening.

Did Geno mention that they were very unhappy with their party being disrupted? Because they were. So unhappy, in fact, that they decided shooting at cops in a crowded room was a good idea.

Fucking idiots.

Geno swore, taking out his own gun and hiding out behind one of the steel pillars that gave the club its ‘edgy’ feeling. “Out! Out!” he yelled, motioning for the civilians to get out of the club. Luckily, most of them didn’t need to be told twice. Geno just hoped no one would get run over in the panic to leave the room.

Whose idea had it been to raid the club during peak hours, anyway? Geno was going to have a chat with that guy, and it wouldn’t be friendly.

At least the club was clearing out now. Geno could still hear shots, though. “What’s happening?” he asked into his headset.

“We’re waiting for backup,” Letang told him. “Try to contain them. Maatta is going to turn on the lights as soon as he gets that damn manager to show him where.”

“Almost there,” Maatta chimed in.

“Any civilians still in harm’s way?” Letang asked.

“Negative,” another voice answered, and others echoed his reply.

Geno was about to do the same when he noticed a movement in the corner of his eye. He cursed inwardly when he turned and saw what it was. “There are people hiding behind the bar.”

“Can you get to them?”

“Negative. All open space between us. The shooters would see me right away.”

“Are they in any active danger?”

Geno bit back a sarcastic reply about the situation in general and replied, “Negative.”

Then he saw a shadow move and revised his opinion. “Someone is moving towards them.”

“Fuck,” Letang cursed, “we’re moving in. Stay where you are, Malkin, until we can give you cover.”

And Geno had all intentions of following that order. Really, he had. Except the person behind the bar moved and Geno recognized that pair of shoulders immediately.

What was Crosby even doing here?

Geno didn’t even think before he ducked out from the pillar to take a shot at the person advancing. It missed by quite a bit. The returning fire hit him in the arm before he could take cover again, but hey. It had worked. The very much armed person wasn’t walking towards the bar anymore, was he?

Later, in the hospital, Sullivan asked him: “Why did you do that?”

Geno wanted to shrug, but abandoned that thought very quickly when he felt his shoulder throb. “Protecting a civilian, sir.”

Sullivan’s silence spoke volumes.

“At least he’ll have reason to trust me now?” Geno offered.

His boss sighed. “He better.”

 

_“There was a bit of a strain between the two of you, wasn’t there, after that business with Bryant?”_

_“It was fine. Just a misunderstanding.”_

_“I assume Kessel can vouch that you were behind the bar all evening.”_

_“I think so. He might’ve taken a quick toilet break, I can’t remember. But people would have noticed if there was no one behind the bar.”_

_“Did you take one?”_

_“No.”_

_“Looks like you’re good, then. We’ll check all this, of course.”_

_“Of course.”_

_“Was there anyone carrying a weapon tonight?”_

_“…”_

_“Mr. Crosby?”_

_“I’m thinking. What kind of make or calibre are we talking?”_

_“Likely something small. My guess is a .22LR.”_

_“Nah, nothing like that. Old Jim likes to carry a gun around sometimes, but I’m not even sure he had it on him today. His new missus doesn’t like it.”_

_“I see.”_

 

June 13, 2018 - 5:26 am 

It was 5 am. Breakfast time at the diner.

“Geno!” Sid admonished him. “You shouldn’t be moving that shoulder yet.”

Geno grinned at him. “It’s fine. Sid doesn’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worrying,” Sid said. “You’re just terrible at taking care of yourself.”

Geno sighed and switched his fork back to his left hand, clumsily poking at his eggs. “Doctor cleared me for work, I should be cleared for eating food.”

“So you’re back, huh?”

Sid’s tone of voice was a bit weird. Geno had gotten used to him being more open, light-hearted around him these last couple of weeks. It was weird seeing him become reserved again.

“Duty calls. Though I wouldn’t mind if you did, too, now and again,” he winked.

To his delight, Sid actually blushed. “Geno. I see you practically every day. Why would I call you?”

Geno cocked his head to the side. “Sid. Call anytime. Okay?”

“Or…” Sidney looked down. “You could just go out with me.”

Geno blinked. He was pretty sure that hadn’t been what Sullivan meant by ‘cultivating a source’. He was walking a thin line here, he knew. But… “Of course.”

Sid’s smile was ample reward. “Good. Cause I have tomorrow off and I would really like not having to get up at five just to see you.”

Geno grinned. “No need to get up for that at all.”

 

_“Thank you. We will now type up your statement and go through it with you again. I’m sure you can understand that, as one of the main witnesses, we can’t quite let you go yet.”_

_“I understand.”_

_“A fingerprint technician will be along shortly to get your prints. For elimination, you understand. You said you touched the body.”_

_“I’ll wait.”_

_“Then I am officially ending this interview. It is now 3:14 am. Agent Malkin is leaving the room.”_

 

June 14, 2018 - 4:15 am

Mike Sullivan looked very tired when Sidney entered. “So it was him, then?”

“Yes.”

“Did he kill that man?”

Sidney shook his head, sitting down across from his supervising agent. “No. He’s an informant, not a hired killer. But he knows who did. Knew the exact calibre before ballistics did. I don’t know what gave away that I knew - maybe he noticed that I checked over Little’s body more carefully than I had admitted to - but he basically ran out of the station after that slip-up.”

Mike shook his head. “One of my best agents. Working for Krylov. We knew there must be a mole, but…”

“He gave them a tip-off about that club raid, too, I’m sure.” Sidney grimaced at the memory. “Though I’m sure he didn’t intend for it to escalate.”

Mike didn’t look too happy at that. “Are you defending him?”

“No, sir. Only the way he walked in there, he probably expected them to just not sell drugs that evening, not to post armed guards.”

“Let’s hope that’s true.”

“Did you get a chance to check up on his recruitment?”

“Said he was the son of Soviet defectors who came here in the early sixties, just before the Berlin wall went up. His English is so good I never thought to question it, but it seems he’s actually a fairly recent arrival. Came to the US seven years ago - and immediately entered the FBI, apparently with years of experience as an assistant sheriff in Arizona. References and all.”

“I still don’t understand how he did that,” Sidney murmured. “He must have had help.”

“And with him gone, we’ll never know who.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“How are you planning to find out, then, Sidney? You can’t exactly return to the organization now. Malkin will tell them who you are.”

But Sidney smiled. “I wonder.”

Mike looked hopeful for the first time. “You think he won’t tell?”

“Oh, he will, especially as I will continue working with the local police after this quite openly.”

By now, hope had turned to intrigue. “And why would you do that?”

Sidney inspected his fingers. He wasn’t at all sure how his supervisor would react to his idea. “In case, say, an agent of the cartel would like to turn double-agent.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Are you sure,” Mike asked carefully, “that you aren’t letting personal feelings dictate your judgement?”

Now _that_ was path Sidney wasn’t willing to go down. “The way I see it, we have nothing to lose and a lot to gain. He was with the FBI for years, sir. I don’t know what brought him to the cartel, but I can imagine he might be losing his taste for it fast once he’s back inside.”

“Alright. You’ve done well undercover, I might as well trust you with this,” Sullivan decided. “What will you do now?”

“I think I’ll go have some breakfast at the diner.” Agent Sidney smiled, cocky in a way bartender and small-time criminal Crosby hadn’t been. “After all, Malkin wasn’t the only one cultivating a source.”

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed warnings: There are two murders that are described without any details except for method and weapon used. An interrogation scene (without threats of violence or hostility and by two parties who know exactly what they’re doing) is woven throughout the fic. Drugs are only mentioned in the context of someone selling them. 
> 
> In the scene beginning with “May 12, 2018 - 11:20 pm” there is a shooting in a club. It’s not a terrorist attack, just a gang of armed dudes pissed at a drug raid, and no one dies, but, you know. Geno gets shot. It’s not lethal or described in any detail. 
> 
> I guess there could be something like a power imbalance in a FBI agent flirting with his informant, but 1) the informant isn’t reliant on the agent for his safety and 2) there actually isn’t any power imbalance.


End file.
